


A Tale of Wolves and Hounds

by HeyRedelle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, F/M, Family Dynamics, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25632172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyRedelle/pseuds/HeyRedelle
Summary: Braelyn Stark has never quite lived up to her status as a highborn lady, choosing instead to make her own way in the world. When her family is threatened, however, she has no choice but to play the game of thrones. Thankfully, she has a loyal hound by her side.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say this is a Slow Burn, I mean it is a SLOW Burn. These first few chapters are mostly about getting to know Braelyn, seeing how she interacts with her family, etcetera. We will get to the Hound eventually. Pinky promise. Also, this starts off canon-compliant, but we are going to diverge majorly from the original plot eventually.
> 
> This is not beta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

Braelyn watched with disinterest as Septa Mordane inspected Sansa’s needlework, praising her skill and precision. Her sister, as per usual, beamed up at the Septa, reveling in the compliments that were bestowed upon her. 

It seemed to Braelyn that Sansa quite enjoyed the mundane activities that the life of a lady had to offer, such as sewing, and she often envied her for it. Sansa certainly did their mother proud, and that was not something Braelyn could say for herself. In Catelyn’s eyes, Braelyn had always been somewhat of a troublemaker.

Deciding she might as well live up to her reputation, Braelyn quietly stood from the chair she had been occupying in the corner of the room and moved for the door. As she exited, she motioned for her youngest sister, Arya, to put down her own needle and thread and come along. 

If the state of Arya’s embroidery was anything to go by, Braelyn justified, she had not been paying any attention to the Septa’s lessons anyway. A fact that was only confirmed by the state of Arya’s fingers. Braelyn guessed her sister must have stabbed herself at least a hundred times with her needle, focused on the window behind which their brothers were practicing their archery rather than the offending instrument.

“You should pay more attention to your lessons,” Braelyn half-heartedly scolded her sister, letting the door fall shut behind them. “Perhaps if you stopped staring out the window, your hands wouldn’t hurt as much.”

“Oh, you are one to talk about lessons.” Arya dragged her feet as she followed Braelyn down the corridor, muttering curses under her breath. “I mean, half the time you don’t even show up,” she cried. “You get to run around with your brother all day. It just isn’t fair!”

“I was there today, was I not?” Braelyn quipped.

“Well, you didn’t do anything, did you?” Arya stopped dead in her tracks and folded her arms across her chest, refusing to walk any further until her sister admitted defeat. In that moment, Braelyn understood why Catelyn preferred for Arya to be around Sansa. Arya had all but morphed into Braelyn’s younger self, the complete opposite of what their mother expected from her daughters. 

“I am horrible at stitching, Brae,” Arya eventually sighed, her arms dropping to her sides.

“I am not going to disagree with you there,” Braelyn chuckled, inadvertently causing Arya’s fists to clench and her brow to scrunch up. If she was going to stop her sister from going on another tirade, Braelyn would have to act and she would have to act quickly. Thankfully, a plan had already begun to form. “Come on,” she urged Arya to follow her once again.

As the two of them neared the inner courtyard, Braelyn pulled Arya into an alcove. She clasped a hand over her sister’s mouth as two members of the household guard, Jory and Hallis, walked past. Braelyn released Arya as soon as the men were out of earshot, assuring her that they were close to their destination. 

“There are plenty of things you are not horrible at, Arya,” Braelyn reminded her sister as they stopped in front of the armory only minutes later. She slipped a dagger out of her boot and jimmied the lock so the two of them could slip through the door without alerting the guards or, perhaps more importantly, their brothers.

Arya’s eyes widened as Braelyn pulled a small bow from the rack. She eagerly accepted the weapon and Braelyn watched her run into the courtyard where Robb and Jon were helping Bran with his stance. Just as Bran pulled back his arrow, Arya released her own. She hit the target straight on, curtsying as all three of her brothers turned around. After seeing the look on their faces Arya decided it was probably best to take off. Bran followed not far behind, determined to get his revenge.

“You put her up to this!” Robb turned to Braelyn as she emerged from the shadows of the armory. Anyone watching would have assumed he was annoyed with her, but Braelyn knew better. Be it because they had shared their mother’s womb at one point or because they had spent nearly every single second together since, Braelyn could always tell exactly what Robb was thinking. In this case, it was his eyes, and the slight twinkle in them, that gave away his amusement.

“How dare you suggest such a thing, my dear brother?” Braelyn brought a hand up to her heart, letting out an exaggerated gasp. “You know very well that I am nothing, if not a lady. I would never allow our darling little sister to behave in such a manner.”

“If you’re a lady then I must be the queen of Westeros herself,” Jon laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Should I continue? If so, do you like these shorter chapters, or would you like longer ones?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another one! Like I said, these first few chapters are mostly about getting to know Braelyn.
> 
> This was not beta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

Early the next morning a messenger from the Wall had arrived in Winterfell. He brought with him whispers of white walkers, rumors started by a deserter of the Night’s Watch. He told them that, as Warden of the North, Lord Stark had been summoned to the hills to deal with the situation. Robb and Jon tracked along as per usual and, for the first time, so did little Bran.

“I don’t see why I couldn’t go.” Braelyn complained to her sisters. Her father - as instructed by her mother, no doubt - had told her to stay behind, and after realizing that he stood firm in his decision, she had stormed off to her chambers.

Sansa, taking pity on her older sister, had decided to join her and was now sat behind her on the bed, helping her comb through her thick, dark brown tresses. Arya was sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, prodding the burning embers with a stick and their youngest brother, Rickon, had snuggled up in Braelyn’s lap.

“I don’t see why you would want to go,” Sansa sighed.

“Doesn’t it excite you at all?” Braelyn turned to her sister. “All these stories of white walkers and wildlings? There are so many adventures to be had beyond the Wall, or even going South! Don’t you want to see what’s outside of Winterfell?”

“You go on plenty of adventures.” Arya stared stoically ahead at the flames as she spoke, but the bitterness was evident in her voice. “You get to go hunting with Father, riding with Jon and Robb. I’ve even seen you sneak out with Theon at night.”

“Theon Greyjoy?” Sansa gasped, accidentally pulling on her sister’s hair.

“That was once.” Braelyn winced, rubbing at her scalp. For such a delicate girl, her sister had quite the strong grip. “Do not be getting any ideas, Sansa. He made me a bet, said I couldn’t climb over the walls without the guards noticing. I had to prove him wrong. That’s all.”

“If you say so.” Sansa tied off the braid that she had been working on before starting on the next one. Her hands combed softly through Braelyn’s hair, separating the remaining section into three smaller ones. “There,” she smiled after a moment, tying off the final braid, “beautiful.”

“It is beautiful,” Braelyn agreed. “Thank you, Sansa.”

No one would ever say Braelyn resembled her mother over her father, however, as she looked at her own reflection, admiring her sister’s handiwork, she had to admit she had more Tully in her than she would have liked. It was not that she didn’t think her mother to be beautiful, in fact, quite the opposite was true. It was that the few delicate features she did inherit from Catelyn, her high cheekbones, pointed chin and narrow nose, didn’t suit her. They contrasted too sharply with her northern coloring.

“Brae.” Rickon’s soft voice made Braelyn look away from the looking glass, his small form escaping her arms. “Will you tell us about Uncle Benjen?” he asked, sitting himself down on the floor in front of her. “About how the wildlings stole his horse?”

“Of course, my sweet boy.” Braelyn laughed, running a hand through her brother’s curly mop of hair. She had told him the story at least a dozen times before, but he never seemed to get tired of it.

“As you know, the youngest siblings are often the bravest. That is almost as true for our Uncle Benjen as it is for you,” she started, smiling as she watched Rickon’s face light up. “First came our Uncle Brandon, whom our brother is named after. Then came -”

“Father!” Rickon squealed. 

“That’s right,” Braelyn nodded. “Then came our Aunt Lyanna, and last came our Uncle Benjen. When Aunt Lyanna was stolen from her bed by the Mad King’s son, Father and Uncle Brandon went to get her back. In their absence, a messenger came in from the Wall, much like this morning. Uncle Benjen, who had stayed behind to look after Winterfell, was called to action.” 

Arya had moved closer at this point, grievances forgotten and the fire neglected as she waited with baited breath for the story to continue. Even Sansa had slipped down to the floor and nestled herself between her siblings, paying close attention. However, just as Braelyn opened her mouth to continue, a figure appeared in the window.

“You have to come outside!” Bran was smiling from ear to ear. He was red in the face from scaling the wall in a hurry, his breath coming out in short pants. Then, just as suddenly as he had popped up, he disappeared again.

“Let’s see what kind of surprise Bran has for us shall we?” Braelyn jumped up from the bed and picked Rickon up off the floor, settling him on her hip as she carried him outside. “We’ll finish your story tonight,” she promised, but as soon as they stepped into the crisp, northern air, the story was all but forgotten. 

Rickon wrestled himself out of Braelyn’s arms and ran straight for Robb, Arya and Sansa on his heels, eager to see what the surprise was. Braelyn could already tell from a distance Robb was holding two small, furry creatures against his chest. 

As she got closer, Braelyn realized her brother was, in fact, holding two puppies and that Jon and Theon were each holding two more. It seemed the latter was all too happy to let go of the pups, practically shoving them at Arya and Sansa. Rickon, meanwhile, was trying to peel one from Robb’s arms.

“Their mother died, so we had to take them home with us. Mine is called Summer,” Bran explained, taking one of the pups from Jon. “That’s Ghost,” he pointed at the pup that was still nestled in Jon's arms, “and Robb is holding Grey Wind.”

Braelyn had just started to think that she was the only one who wasn’t getting a pup of her own, when her father came walking out of the stables. “I do believe,” he smiled, pulling a small, black ball of fur out from under his cloak, “that this one is yours.”

“This is not a dog,” Braelyn realized, inspecting the pup. “This is -”

“A direwolf,” Ned finished for her. “Our house sigil.”

“That’s why you brought them home.” Braelyn gently took the pup into her arms. 

“Now I will just have to explain that to your mother.” Ned looked over his daughter’s shoulder, a hint of worry creeping up onto his face as he spotted his wife, still none the wiser about the pups, approaching from the Great Keep. “Somehow I don’t think she will be very understanding.”

“May the Gods, old and new, be in your favour,” Braelyn joked. She knew her mother would not be happy about the new additions to the family, but she also knew her mother would do anything to see her children happy and if the smiles on the faces of the younger ones were anything to go by, she would surely warm up to their new pets. Her father would be forgiven soon enough.

“What are you naming yours?” Sansa asked, walking up beside Braelyn.

“I’m not sure yet,” Braelyn answered, scratching behind her direwolf’s pointy ears. She gently ran her fingers down his back, counting his ribs as she went. “He is a skinny little thing, isn’t he?” she observed, the gears in her head turning. “How about Bones?”

“Brae, that is horrible.” Sansa frowned. “Name him something nice!”

“What is yours called, anyway?” Braelyn asked. It had come out harsher than intended but she couldn’t help but be slightly offended by her sister’s comment. She knew that Sansa hadn’t meant to insult her, but she had thought herself quite clever for coming up with the name Bones. 

“I think I will call her Lady,” Sansa answered, beaming down at her pup.

“Lady?” Braelyn snorted, suddenly far less concerned with her sister’s opinions on the name she had chosen. “Well, I think I will be sticking with Bones.” Her direwolf was quick to catch on, wagging his little tail at the sound of his name. “See,” she laughed. “He likes it!”

“Fine,” Sansa huffed. “At least it’s better than Shaggydog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Spoiler: The Hound shows up in the next one, but there's no funny business... yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Brae to meet the Hound...
> 
> This was not beta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

As the first of King Robert’s succession neared the castle, Catelyn turned to look over her children one last time, making sure they all looked presentable. “Where is Arya?” she hissed, horrified to find one of them missing. “Braelyn, Sansa, where is your sister?”

“Don’t worry, Mother,” Braelyn reassured her. “I’ll find her.” 

Pushing her way past her siblings, Braelyn headed into the masses of people that had gathered in the main courtyard. She knew that Arya would be hiding somewhere close to the gate, eager to get a glimpse at the royal procession, and so it didn’t take long for her to spot her sister’s bright blue cloak in the crowd. 

“There you are!” Braelyn tugged on Arya’s furry collar. “Let’s go, you little devil! Hurry!” 

As the two of them broke into a sprint, hoping to make it back to their family in time, Braelyn tripped over the hem of her dress and landed face down in the dirt. Catelyn was on her immediately, scolding her for being careless as she rubbed the dirt off her cheeks and ran a hand through her hair to smoothen it out. Rather than trying to salvage her daughter’s dress, Catelyn pushed her to stand behind Rickon, effectively hiding most of the newly acquired stains.

Braelyn lightly squeezed her little brother’s shoulders as the first knights rode through the gates. As she followed the procession, her eyes were soon drawn to the man that rode up behind the Prince. This man had to be the largest man she had ever seen. His helmet, shaped like a snarling dog’s head, served to make him even more imposing. 

As he pulled up his helm, Braelyn was surprised to find a pair of warm brown eyes met her steely gray ones. It wasn’t until the royal coach pulled up, carrying the Queen and her blonde haired brood, that he averted his gaze.

When, finally, the King rode up behind the royal coach, everyone dropped to one knee, bowing their heads in a show of respect. “Your Grace.” Ned rose to his feet after being instructed to do so. Catelyn followed suit, prompting the rest of the crowd to rise as well.

“You got fat,” Robert spat, looking at his oldest friend.

Ned simply raised an eyebrow as if to say: “What about you?” 

After a short stare off both men to burst into laughter, and the tension that had been flowing through the crowd quickly dispersed as they pulled each other in for a brotherly hug.

“Cat!” Robert smiled as he let go of Ned and turned his affections to Catelyn. 

Braelyn hardly paid attention to the words that the King bestowed upon her parents and siblings, watching instead as the Queen, along with her two youngest children, descended the steps of the royal coach. They couldn’t have looked more out of place, with their bright blonde hair and their ornate clothing. 

“Ah, there’s the little one.” King Robert was standing in front of Braelyn and Rickon before she knew it, snapping her out of her thoughts. “I do mean you, girl,” he chuckled. “You haven’t grown a bit in size since I last saw you, yet your beauty has surpassed itself.” 

“Your Grace.” Braelyn curtsied, managing a half smile.

At the feast that night, Braelyn found herself sitting with Arya. She had been instructed to keep an eye on the young girl and although she didn’t mind the task all that much, she occasionally found herself glancing over at Robb and his friends. 

As the night went on, Braelyn also found herself thinking about Jon. Her mother had banned him from the feast, claiming it would be an insult to their royal visitors to have a bastard at the table. Braelyn had objected, but Jon had assured her it was fine and that he didn’t want to come to the feast anyway.

Now, looking around the room, she understood why he had not been too keen on joining them. Whereas her people were eating and drinking heartily, talking loudly, and dancing around the room, hardly any of the Southerners - apart from the King, of course - seemed to be taking part in the festivities. 

Getting bored of their visitors' sour expressions, Braelyn decided it would be alright to let Arya out of her sights for a moment in order to go and see Jon. After all, her sister had been well behaved for most of the night, even going so far as to make polite conversation with Princess Myrcella. 

As Braelyn looked down at the mountains of food laid out in front of her, she realized that Jon likely hadn’t eaten yet and, with Arya’s help, started to load up a plate for him. Just as she stood to make her escape, Robb sauntered over to their table. “Where are you going with all that food, Sister?” he asked, taking the plate from her hands and setting it back down on the table.

“She is leaving me all by myself,” Arya complained.

“You can go sit with Sansa,” Braelyn offered.

“I don’t want to sit with her,” Arya argued, looking over at Sansa and her friend, Jane. She frowned as she watched the two girls gossiping, silently deciding that she would rather be sent to her chambers than sit at a table with them.

“I’m bringing Jon something to eat,” Braelyn explained to Robb, silently begging him to take Arya off her hands for a while. As much as she loved her little sister, she could be a real pain in the arse when she wanted to be.

“Jon is fine,” Robb tried to assure her.

“Oh, he will be after he’s had this.” Braelyn grabbed a full wineskin from the table and tucked it under her arm, picking up the plate of food again as she started to make her way towards the door.

“Don’t spoil your night, Brae,” Robb called after her. He reminded her ever so much of their mother in that moment, his mouth stretched into a thin line and his dark hair glowing auburn in the candlelight. He truly was, as their father would say, the Tully to her Stark.

“I won’t, Robb.” Braelyn waved him off.

As she moved between the rows of people, Braelyn’s eyes once again landed on the Prince’s sworn shield. He wasn’t wearing his helmet this time, giving her an unobstructed view of his face. A large scar covered the entire right side of him, and Braelyn couldn’t help but wonder how he got it. Almost as if he could feel her eyes on him, he turned to face her. Their eyes met, much like they had done that morning, but this time neither one of them looked away. 

“You look like you’re having a good time,” Braelyn quipped as she came to a halt in front of him. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall, which was massive compared to her small, five foot frame. “But then,” she shrugged, leaning up against the wall beside him, “who would be with this lot?” 

For a moment, she thought she could see a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but other than that he gave no indication that he had heard her. “Here.” She pressed the wineskin into his hands, purposely brushing his fingers with her own. “You should lighten up a little,” she told him. His only response was to take a large swig from the wineskin. Braelyn shook her head, giving him a small smile as she turned to leave the hall.

“I’m not the one who’s headed for the door.” His voice was just as deep as she had expected it to be, if a little more gruff, and Braelyn found herself at a loss for words. She briefly imagined what her name would sound like spilling from his lips, but quickly pushed the thought from her mind.

“I have business to attend to,” she finally spoke, holding up her plate.

“As do I,” he reminded her, gesturing towards the royal table. Following his line of sight, Braelyn found, much to her dismay, that Joffrey was still busy making eyes at Sansa, causing the girl to giggle into her friend's shoulder, her cheeks flushing bright pink. 

“Hmm,” Braelyn hummed, keeping her eyes trained on the Prince. She had only spoken to him once thus far, but that one conversation had been enough to find out what a little cunt he truly was. “It’s no wonder you’re miserable.” 

Suddenly, the man barked with laughter. Braelyn was sure this was a rare occurrence, and she felt a strange sense of pride at having been able to make him laugh. Unable to keep a smile from her face, she bid him goodnight and continued on her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always a slut for feedback, so let me know what you think!


End file.
